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Good Day, Folks!

Today, I shall be reading for a character steeped deeply in today’s realities of the never-ever-world: Homer Simpson.  Although it is not known exactly which day the honourable Sir Simp-a-Son is born, yes you Homer, it is easy and I’m eager to conclude that this must have happened between 21 and 31 March 1956, given the basic instinctive qualities of your characteristics.  I am thrilled to have Rosie helping, as medication and our mixing some Moet & Chandon has helped Rosie unravel the inadequacies of her over-anal*. mind, isn’t that right, Sis?

–                 Yo!  Howdy Folks!  How’zit going today?

–                 Ok, you sit here for a while and you see how I do it, how only I know how to do it, yeah?

Ok, she’s smiling, nothing to worry about, Folks.  Homer, Mate, I drew three cards for you: Sun – Moon – Emperor

Aaah, you lucky doughnut, you!  You have it all within and all without: success, imagination and a father who will never let you down.  Fuck!  Even I wish I had your life.  No, no, o’course I’m not envious, I’m a tarot reader, how could I even begin to covet what you’ve achieved and what you’re still gonna do, in spite of your ridiculous spudity (and I don’t mean stupidity since you can earn yourself and your fathers and God-fathers alike zillions of God-blessed dollars I cannot make in one life time even if I tried to work for a nuclear power plant and was mentally challenged by a crayon, no offence meant).  I do mean spudity however because no actors or actresses I know look so much like a deformed spud as you do, unless we’re talking alien spud the subject of which I know nothing of.  True, Hollywood and Dohllywood and the general movie industry do provide more for more character based filming, and I’m thinking of Steve Buscemi, Ron Perlman, Margaret Hamilton (Wizard of Oz), etc. and therefore you have a right not to be dismissed as purely ugly and repulsive, your comic genius helping.

You are blessed by the God of all good and material things and, in spite of your beer and doughnuts diet, you’ll be one to prove us all, and especially the modern medicine man such as Deepak Chop-Pack that there is life after death and that one can live on any diet as long as one alters one’s cells according to one’s deepest sense of happiness and irrelevance.

For once I’m gonna allow an unethical truth to appear and talk about the time of your death: you will not die for as long as your maker, your blessed Dad-and-God-and-God-and-Dad (try and say this very fast, it helps unravel things) wishes to maintain you alive, him and his sons and his sons’ sons, etEcEteRaaaaaaaaah.

*over-anal. Stands for over-analytical

The heart of your question – the one I can hear between my ears – is whether or not you should change things around and go out to see if you can find yourself over there rather than where you are just now.  Why, Homer-Face-You?  Why I ask?  Hmm, I sense that you don’t know what you want even if you know who you are.  Your predicament stems from the fact that you wish to move your family with you, wherever it is you intend to go to and that you haven’t told them you want to move because they might not believe that there are better towns with better and bigger nuclear power stations.  The trouble is they know you’re God but they also know they’re gods onto themselves.  Blessed be Bart, Lisa, Marge and Maggie.  They do take after you after all, may it be because they’re your kids or because Marge’s genes may be associated to you in ways you can’t imagine.  I hear she was your cousin to a degree?

Ha! Ha! Ha!  Homer, you wee secret keeper… I know it now and I’m gonna divulge it to all here reading this: you hate surprises and all you wish for now is some peace and quiet.  You wanna meditate and think of your higher purpose in life and if it’d be religion, of any type and any race, then be it.  You’re gonna abide to any appealing trait of any religion – provided hell has nothing to do with it and as long as you don’t fall asleep during the abidance scheme.  It’s like you wanna create the surprises with your enduring and persistent Doh abiding laws, rather than the surprises surprising you… you know what I mean?

Currently, in your wishes and hopes house, it is clear that you do not wish to act responsibly or to fall in love ever again because you don’t want a second wife.  True that in your pencil marked brain, there is a thin line between what constitutes responsibility and what doesn’t and, what’s more, you’ve forgotten what fallen in love is because you and Marge have been such a steady couple and that it would involve you’re being able to count to two and to make the difference between the two wives (the second wife would have to look like Marge and behave like her anyway).  Besides, you don’t know what are the rules to get married in the US and you’re afraid that more than one wife might make of you a sect leader, which wouldn’t be correct since you’re godly anyway.

Surprisingly, what is happening in your life right now is that you’re gonna take the lead of your own lines and voice and alter it to your heart’s content to show the whole wide world out there how smart you can be when no one is even requesting it, such is your sense of timing.

In your past, Mr. Doh-player, your impulsive and intuitive instincts have served you well up until now but you wish you didn’t have to act in such a way all the time.  You wish to show how impropriety and your family’s lack of decorum can appear intelligent and how necessary it is to keep this world going round and round thanks to you and your family’s madness.  If only your spud-shaped mind and face could be acknowledged by any single living creature out there, you could achieve doh-much more.  You’re a church onto yourself and you’ve come to realise – without daring to voice it – but I’m doin’ it for ya – that it isn’t necessary to go to church as your disciples only know all too well that hell is what they’re going through right now and that there can only be a better life once you manage to send them to the promised land you too aspire to: that of TV, beer and doughnuts factories.

Well, let me tell ya, Homer-Doh, Sir, that all you can do at this point in time is to keep being you to keep us entertained and willing to face the real abject realities of this world.  Yeah, you know it’s unwise, irreverent and irrelevant at best but this is what you do.  Give yourself a pat on the brain or bum (depending which is easier to reach for you) and acknowledge that you’re useful.  You’ve a great income earner and if it isn’t for yourself, at least for all those who care for you, may they be linked to the way you move (oh boy I love your stretching abilities) or the way you sound and speak.

Look, if you feel a little low at times, you’re allowed to take some perspective and go climb that mountain on your own to look at things with your dark lantern and shed light on the God of small things, but be honest with yourself and go back to your wicked instinctual nature quickly, so as to feed us, your audience and our addictive nature with your antics and for us not to have to turn to pills and champagne to help our moods.  Have pity on us, do not let us down Hom-Hum-Hmm-Mate.

Finally, I reckon there’s something you’ve never done yet, you of the Simple-Mind-Hub-a-Dub-Dub, and that’s coming on me show to do a reading.  You’d be O so good at it, Homer Chum .  I have every belief in you.  You’re me religion, me reason to live (or one of dem-doh) and I can’t wait till your next show.  See, I can’t even claim to having produced (yet) as much absurdity and stupidity as you have.  Still, I feel myself fortunate not to have seen all of your shows in spite of my propensity to sit in front of the TV (we have a lot in common) at least twenty-eight hours a day and as I too work within the realm of dangerous and all invading and pervasive particles (you only have to look at me sister slouched on a chair right here).

So please accept me invitation to join me on stage soon and enlighten us with your powerful and ludicrous insights.

God Bless.

Feralbulb

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